


for you (i've waited all these years)

by elbe



Series: Two Asgardians Walk Into a Bar [2]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Implied Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, psuedo-incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:39:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elbe/pseuds/elbe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki fights alongside the Avengers. The battle doesn't go well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for you (i've waited all these years)

**Author's Note:**

> Much-requested sequel to "stay with me, baby (i'm the fella you came with)".

The dust has barely settled on the battleground before the enemy collects back on itself and launches another assault. Loki makes his stand in the center of the street amidst ruined vehicles and torn-asunder buildings. He grasps short blades in either hand, hilt tight against his palm with the blades pointed down. They're streaked with grease and motor oil from the soft innards of the mechanical monsters hovering above the city and the ruined corpses of the first wave litter the area around his feet. He's sweating beneath his battle garb, but his heart pounds fierce in his breast and he can feel his blood thrumming with the magic he summons. He tucks a loose hair behind his ear and stays his feet upon the gravel, awaiting their next maneuver. 

Loki may not have been molded as his brother was in the arts of battle, nor has he often waded into the thick of war, but he is not untested. As all princes of Asgard are trained in weaponry and defense, Loki learned how to wield sword and shield at a young age. He simply took to magic quicker, easier, and he made that his weapon. He prefers the comfort and cover of shadow. The darkness cloaks him, welcomes him, and he strikes deadly when the enemy cannot see him coming. Odin's forces have employed his skills upon more than one occasion though they mocked his methods after the battle was done. Now, though, he is on even footing with the warriors around him, and he could not feel more alive and dangerous than in this very moment.

The Avengers have been at it for four hours. The call came in just as everyone sat down to breakfast (one of the benefits of living together is the group meal where everyone's personalities are heightened to hilarious extremes). In such a hurry to suit up and ship out, they'd forgotten the eggs cooling on the table. 

Before today, it'd been quiet on the villain front. New York remained as peaceful as a bustling metropolis can get, but SHIELD itself was all in a tizzy since Loki and Thor's arrival two months before. Fury, pronouncing the team complete shortly thereafter, enlisted the entire group in tests and exercises to get them used to working together. At first, egos clashed. A top-secret government organization throws in two fearsome assassins, a billionaire with a head the size of the monument he just built himself in the center of the city, and two gods (not to mention a ruffled scientist with a mountain on his shoulder in place of a chip and a party trick that tended to break the parties rather than liven them up), and said organization is going to have plenty of problems. Even though the good Colonel tried to stave off any understandable clashes, there were still road blocks to traverse. Eventually, however, the team began to come together. The super soldier, Captain America, was placed in charge of this fraying team and under his firm command (because Steve Rogers is not stern or unduly tough) they began to work together. They even came to anticipate Tony Stark's bouts of bullheadedness and compensated for the holes Natasha and Clint left when they were assigned tasks elsewhere. 

Even Thor, Loki knows, came to respect the mortals. As for Loki... He has never held much affection for those not his mother or brother, so to find himself identifying with the ruined Russian or actually trading barbs back and forth with the archer shocks him more than he's willing to admit. He and Tony do not get along, but they don't need to. They work well together and that's all either cares about. Truth be told, Loki's favorite (if he ever confessed to something as petty as preferences amongst his teammates) is Bruce Banner. His condition, his mind, and his manner all fascinate Loki like nothing in this earthly realm. To see the beast known as Hulk emerge from the flimsy, world-weary shell of Banner and terrorize a city of people is more than wondrous. It's a magic all its own, even if the scientist himself cannot realize that. 

What it all boils down to is this. This moment. This calming breath before the enemy, some kind of robotic army Tony and SHIELD claim comes from a mad King known as Doom, is what makes Loki think of his team. They have his back. Thor has perched himself atop a nearby monument. He is ever ready to wield the might of his hammer. Eager, even. Tony completes the aerial defense. The repulsor units in his hands go off every now and then to keep the enemy at bay. Natasha and Steve both join Loki in the streets. She loads her firearms quickly and efficiently from a seemingly never ending supply in her belt and Steve lets loose his shield. Clint perches over them, letting out calls of movement interspersed with near-silent _snicks_ of arrows from his bowstring. The Hulk cleans up the stragglers around them, and nobody gives much thought to his position. He'll be fine on his own. They are a team. They move like a single chain tightening round the neck of the enemy. Each link performs their own task and when a brother-in-arms falters or falls, the links close to shorten the leash and fill the holes. This, this moment, is what they've been training for.

In the end, it's the machines around them that make the next move. They gather one moment, then attack the next. The shiny bots, shaped like snakes with sharpened scales that slither, squeeze, and spit bullets, all move at once. The ones that fly shoot off together, single-mindedly heading towards the airborne Avengers. The snakes confined to the ground come out of the alleys and through the gutted windows of shops and over crushed cars and around pieces of brick and stone dusting the asphalt. There are so many of them. Sunlight glints off their shiny bodies. The encroaching machines force Loki, Natasha, and Steve back to back to back. As soon as they're tight together, the snakes attack.

"Keep the formation!" Steve calls into their collective communication devices. "We work our way outwards." The human police forces have cordoned off a five mile radius of the city to prevent any of the snakes from harming the civilian population and Iron Man and Thor are responsible for keeping any stragglers within that perimeter. The Avengers on the street are in the thick of the attack, and victory is not going to be easy.

Loki thrusts himself into the first snake's space, avoiding the gnashing fangs and ammunition firing out of its mouth. He digs his left blade into the weak slit between scales and rips out a portion of what would be its belly. The twitching carcass tumbles to the ground in a clatter of metal, but two more take its place. Loki digs in his boot heels, then his blades. 

His two knives meet in the neck of the next. He uses magic to ward off any attackers as he disengages his steel with theirs. Behind him, Natasha fires a flurry of bullets into the thick skull plate of one snake while Steve beside her decapitates another with the sharpened edge of his trusty shield. 

They keep coming, even after Loki drops his shield and begins using darts of pure energy to ruin their encasings and singe their circuits. It's like they're multiplying, speeding up the life processes to produce more and more and more. The trouble is none of the Avengers have determined the source of these vile creatures nor what's controlling them (if anything is; after all, they could have been programmed to cause as much destruction as possible, and then they _wouldn't_ need to be remotely controlled, would they?). It's like they simply slithered out of the sewers and set upon the city all at once. 

"Thor, you've got ten of these things zippin' past your left," Clint calls into the comms. He's got his hands full with the snakes hovering in front of him, surrounding him, all of which are firing off bullets faster than he can loose arrows. He's got no choice but to abandon his spot and jumps off the edge, using an arrow tip elongating into repelling wire as a guide to the street.

"Lost our eyes on the sky," Steve alerts the two figures in the air. "Iron Man, Thor. We've got to keep a tight grip on these things."

"No shit, Sherlock," Tony gripes back. Loki doesn't spare him a look up, but he knows the Man of Iron is doing his best to keep these creatures under wraps. With their limited information, nobody knows what would happen if one or more of these things escaped the perimeter and penetrated the unprotected city. 

Dark storm clouds gather over the block as Thor whips Mjolnir over his head. It's blurs overhead and, just as the wind reaches fever pitch and the clouds begin to draw inward, thick sizzling bolts of lightning crash down, eviscerating five of the creatures and rendering those around them useless and dead. Now, not only does Loki have to focus on the heinous creatures seizing every opportunity to penetrate the few openings he gives them, he and the team also have to worry about falling husks raining from the sky. 

"Iron Man!" Steve calls into the comm. He swings his shield, blocks an advance, and tosses it again while he grasps a snake round the neck. It writhes and fights with everything it's got, but Steve rips open the plate serving as its head and digs round inside it until he comes up with circuits that render it useless. "Any word on the remote signal controlling these things? Do we know where they're coming from?" 

Above them, Tony bites back a curse and shoots a miniature missile out of his shoulder that takes out three. 

"Not yet. I've got JARVIS trying to pinpoint any kind of frequency. So far, nothing." 

Steve huffs in disappointment, but he doesn't have long to dwell on it when a manhole three yards to their right lifts right up and reveals a whole stream of snakes zigzagging out of the tunnels beneath their feet. 

Loki emits four bolts into the head of one before digging his sword into the neck of another. The impaled robot doesn't switch off, though. Instead, it lets out a squeal and wriggles until Loki's harsh grip and its momentum are too much and the sword breaks apart. He takes a brief second to watch the shards splinter and rain upon the street before he adjusts the grip on his remaining blade and tries to recall each and every offensive and defensive spell he's learned as a student. 

Words flow through his lips like water. He whispers them upon the wind and watches as bolt after bolt of green energy slams into the veritable tidal wave of enemies. It's helping, but he can feel his energy fading fast. Without his staff, a gift from his instructors that now resides in his rooms back home in Asgard, he cannot focus nor enhance his abilities so he is left trying to control his magic to avoid hitting his team or taking out the stray civilian that still huddles in hiding around them. It takes a lot of control. It takes too much. His heart pounds a rushed tattoo in his chest. His blood thickens with lack of oxygen. His limbs are dead weights. Loki knows he's slowing down. It's just by milliseconds, but it's enough for the enemy to seek an opening and take advantage. 

"Iron Man!" Steve calls again. 

"I know, I know!" Tony answers. He knows what Steve's after, but can he produce it? "They _are_ being controlled by something or someone, but the signal's bouncing off too many points of origin to be genuine. JARVIS is running each one down, but it's going to take another minute or two." He grabs a snake in each hand and pounds them into the pavement. "Where's Hulk?"

"Last I saw him, he was rounding up the strays," Clint calls out. He's made his way to another fire escape. It's a little higher with a good view of the street, but a high rise next door blocks his view of the southwestern side of the city. Clint, alone for the moment, touches a finger to his ear, shoving his comm back in after nearly losing it on the climb up. "Thor, what's up, buddy?"

Loki barely hears Thor's garbled response. Instead, the world roars around him. He whirls, ducks, dodges, and makes his way through the throng of creatures, cutting them down as he can. What straggles past him is taken care of by either Steve or Natasha.

A particularly ugly snake, eyes flashing red and teeth bared, hisses as it forces its way past Loki. He lets it go, thinking it'll meet its end shortly, but when Natasha cries out in his ear, he knows the bastard he let past sunk its teeth into her. Loki turns quick. She's got the thing sinking its huge fangs into the fleshy part of her upper thigh, right where the buttocks meets her leg. It's thrashing and whirling about and looks like it's about to take a piece of her with it. Red sprays the sidewalk as it rushes from her wounds and she's digging at the thing to pry it off, but it's sunk in too far. She's lost her firearm in the melee and her own two hands aren't doing any good. 

Steve is too far away, retrieving the shield and bashing in the heads of the snakes foolish enough to get on the business end of it, so he cannot come to her aid. The only one close enough is Loki. While he doesn't hold the cold woman in high esteem or regard her with anything other than polite camaraderie, he isn't about to let her die being assaulted by these poor excuses for serpents. So he turns his back, and just as he tightens his hand on his sword and utters the very first syllable of his next spell, one of the things whips around him and sinks its teeth into his wrist. 

Pain, thick and unholy and bright like a million fucking stars exploding at once, spreads like fire from the two points his arm and flaring over and under the entirety of his skin. Loki lets loose a cry of pure fury when they chomp down on him. He doesn't see much past the sheen of red agony settling over his vision, but he knows the fangs have completely disappeared into his flesh, sinking between and grating upon his bones, and appearing out the other side of his limb. The serpent itself does not stop moving. It's jerking about, madly trying to disengage from the enemy to strike the killing blow, but it can't let go. 

Loki cannot hold onto his weapon any longer and drops it, watching as it disappears beneath the silvery bodies of their enemy. He couldn't have held it anyway. He's bleeding too much, the blood almost black in the daylight, and he knows what that means. The foul wretch swinging from his arm has nicked something and there's no stopping it now. All Loki can taste is the putrid fear permeating his every cell. All he can feel is the pain throbbing throughout him. All he can smell is the iron of his blood and the steel of the machines. All he can see...

All he can see is the enemy bearing down on their wounded opponent. His vision, cloudy at best (he'll throw out a guess of blood loss as to the cause, fills with the teeming sea of wriggling snakes, and he realizes he's fallen backwards, face titled towards the sky. He doesn't know if they have any kind of venom or if it's the shock of the attack, but he barely even feels the other pair of teeth skittering over his leather body armor before jerking through and puncturing his side. 

All he remembers is it suddenly become very hard to breathe. Thor's voice in his ears. The triumphant cry of Tony Stark as he manages to uncover the origin of the mysterious metal infection. The warning of Avenger down _Avengerdown!Avengerdown!_. All in all, he doesn't remember much before he sinks away into a sea of black.

* * *

When Loki awakens, he knows he's not on the field of battle anymore. The nurses tell him he's been under for just about two days. After SHIELD medics dragged him away from the scene of carnage on the streets of New York, they brought him to a government-approved facility, and he's been under since. He's not surprised; his body needed rest, so it took it. Apparently, most were worried he might have suffered a head injury or took, as one particularly colorful nurse put it, "a good knockin' to your noggin." She also insinuated that the rest of the Avengers were concerned for his health and have not yet left the room designated for waiting families since his arrival.

Loki sits up just as the nurse leaves and has a moment to gather his wits before he's sure he's going to be made to suffer the onslaught of team anxiety. His room is painted a plain white with flowered paper borders around the top of the walls. There isn't any other patient occupying his room (this is most unusual to him since the healing chambers in Asgard tended to be lined with wounded warriors or expectant mothers) so he has his privacy. There's another small chamber to the far left of his bedside that can be used to bathe, and a couple of uncomfortable looking chairs lined up beneath a shaded window. His surroundings are different as is his manner of dress. Loki takes inventory of himself from the white gown he's wearing instead of his undoubtedly bloodstained battle garb and no coverings on his legs. He has thin tubing running from a point on his hand to a couple of bags hanging to his right and the wrist he remembers being torn into is heavily bandaged to prevent further damage. 

Before he can lift the blankets or his gown to find out how far his injuries extend (he's still sore from the battle itself, but he guesses he'll be suffering harsh bruising from the swarm of machines that clambered all around him), the door to his room opens once more and three people try to walk in at once. There's a moment of pause to consider that no, this doorway was _not_ meant to accommodate three people (much less people the size of the Avengers), and they take a step back to file in one by one. 

Thor is the first to enter. He is not wearing his armor anymore (and nor should he be) . Instead, he's clad in the human clothing he's become quite accustomed to. Fresh denim molds to his legs as he moves and a plain white tee shirt makes his skin look darker than it is. His hair is pulled back with a thin band and he's freshly shaven, a look he wears quite well. Despite all the trimmings, Loki can see and sense the worry emanating off him in droves. He practically stinks of it, and that's something Loki cannot abide. 

Natasha is next. She's on crutches and her leg is bandaged beneath her slacks. Other than the obvious injuries like the cut about her brow and the bruising all down her left arm, she looks as beautiful and as deadly as ever. Steve follows her. He doesn't seem as injured as the rest, but Loki knows the good Captain heals quickly. Tony, Bruce, and Clint are not there, but Loki isn't at all offended. Honestly, he'd rather it if the Man of Iron weren't nearby because he tends to grate on Loki more than he'd care to admit. 

"Loki," Thor begins. He parks next to his husband, his brother, and tugs a pale, long-fingered hand into his broad palm. Before he can go further, Loki squeeze his fingers, and brings his words to a stop.

"Thor," Loki answers him, voice cool with warning. "I am no longer a boy, and I will _not_ tolerate you simpering around me like a kicked dog. Stop your worrying, it's quite vexing." And, without ceremony, he drops Thor's hand as if it were putrid with rot.

Steve looks at him like he's grown another head (which he has, but not at this moment, thank you very much) and Natasha seems to be calculating the easiest way to end him without anyone knowing. They clearly want to jump in and defend Thor, but neither are stupid enough to get in the middle of their little tiff. Especially when these two can pulverize them with a single strike. Thor, however, doesn't look at all insulted or put down. He simply nods, accepts Loki's words, and tries to keep him company without smothering him. But, even as most would interpret his lack of response as hurt, Loki knows the truth. Even know, he can see the nervousness bleeding away from his tense shoulders. He's relaxing, bit by bit. 

Loki turns his attention to the other two standing over his bed. "What news have you two for me?" 

Steve gives another last glance between Thor and Loki, and visibly decides to clam up on his own feelings and simply report. "Tony found the signal right before you were knocked out. It was Doom after all, operating from a mobile station in the sewers." 

"Ah," Loki exclaims. "That explains why those beastly things were climbing up from the streets. How was he managing to reproduce so many so quickly?"

"He had manufactured over a thousand of them," Natasha answered, "and they were apparently self-repairing. It's got Tony up to his elbows in machine parts back at his workshop trying to figure it out, but it explains why we'd knock them out and they'd keep coming back for more."

Loki nods, taking the information in. "I assume the villain is in custody?" 

"Affirmative," Natasha confirms. "SHEILD is questioning him and will transport him to a secure holding facility in the next week or so." Loki notices the slight inflective over _questioning_ ; he knows an agent of Natasha Romanov's caliber is used to employing unconventional means of making her subjects talk (most call these methods 'torture'), and he doesn't doubt SHIELD has no compunction about using similar methods as well.

"And what is the status of my injuries?" Loki asks. "The nursing staff did not provide me with enough information."

This time, Steve steps forward with the information. 

"When the robot bit your arm, it opened an artery in your wrist. You lost massive quantities of blood and they've been feeding you O-negative blood for awhile now, trying to replenish what you lost." Steve checks the monitors over Loki's bed, their constant consistent beeping an annoyance to the patient but a balm to the Captain. 

"And I can leave this place when I choose?" Loki wants to know. He shifts atop the uncomfortable mattress, trying to find a suitable position. The thin sheets over his legs rustle and rub his skin, crinkling together like sheets of paper. 

"Theoretically," Steve says. 

"Good." On that note, Loki reaches over, grasps the little tube running out of the back of his hand, and wrenches it out. It stings and the tubing within him is covered in blood. Steve makes a cry of almost sympathetic pain, but Loki keeps removing the monitors and instruments from his person. He will no longer be an invalid. He is not a weakling. He's suffered worse agonies than this and will probably live to suffer more. He leaves the bandages on because he doesn't want to risk reopening his wounds, and instead wills himself to rise from the bed and stand. Loki wobbles a little at first, but shortly thereafter finds his footing and tries to make his way to the doorway.

"Um...Loki?" Steve interrupts his hurried exodus. When Loki turns to glare at him and possibly say something mean and hurtful just because he can, he notices the Captain's pink-as-carnations cheeks and how he's avoiding looking everywhere else but at Loki's person.

"Captain?" He tries to make the word as vile and insidious as possible, trying to illustrate just _how_ bad it would be for Captain America to try and stop him.

"You might want to put on some pants."

And when Loki glances over his shoulder, he notices the flapping slit of his hospital gown gaping open to reveal his pale, undoubtedly naked buttocks. 

"Yes. I think I should." He pauses. "Did any of you actually think to bring me trousers, or are you just going to stand there gaping like fish?" 

He ignores the wayward chuckle Thor lets slip free, grabs the bag Natasha retrieves from the doorway, and slips into the adjacent room to change. He locks the door behind him.

* * *

Three days after the attack on the city, sun creeps over the horizon of steel and glass, lighting the skyline New York is so famous for. She stirs from sleep slowly, mind gripping with frantic fingers to the last vestiges of her dreams. They slip through her grasp like vapors. As her blue eyes blink open, tenderly testing the light, she stretches long and lean and takes a gander at the man lying next to her. 

It's not an unfamiliar sight to see her lover, boyfriend, partner, _whatever_ in their bed at this hour. It's -she checks the bedside digital clock- five thirteen in the morning ( _Jesus Christ, why is she up this early_ ), so he's probably just come up from his workshop downstairs. He's pretty much plopped down in the bed, face-dived into the pillow, and dropped off the edge of reality into Dreamland. She knows better to wake him up after the night he's had; when she brought him dinner around eight last night, he'd been working since around noon without stopping. If he just came to bed, then he'd been at it...she doesn't even want to _think_ how long. 

Part of this little relationship of theirs (since Tony seems so unwilling to define it) is giving him the space to accomplish what he wants while simultaneously giving him exactly what he needs. Darcy knows it's on the verge of ridiculous (actually, it's probably tumbled right past ridiculous, heading straight for insane) to have to remind a genius/billionaire/playboy/philanthropist/ _grown ass man_ to eat, but if that's what it takes for him to get three squares, she's going to get him those three squares if she has to shove them down his gullet one at a time. She doesn't mind the hours upon hours he spends in the 'shop either because she spends the same amount of time pouring over mission reports for SHIELD and accompanying Agent Coulson on his trips to Capitol Hill when the Senate is foolish enough to think they can poke their nosey noses into the agency's affairs. 

But, on those special occasions and bright afternoons when their free time overlaps and they're together, it's just the two of them. He's not Iron Man, she's not Executive Assistant to Agent Phillip J. Coulson. They usually spend the time humping like two mad rabbits doused in pheromones, which is just fine by Darcy, but this thing they have going has its moments. 

Darcy likes the way the light glances off Tony's bare arms, biceps toned from the manual labor he tries to convince everyone he doesn't do, and the tiny streaks of silver dusting his goatee he tries to convince himself aren't there. He's quiet for once, but if she listens closely, she can hear the mutterings that escape his lips. Even in sleep, his mind is never quiet, never still. It's something that endlessly fascinates her. He'll talk about something she doesn't understand, eyeballs whirring beneath the lids, and then she'll see it come to life later with the help of a few nuts and bolts and his handy-dandy screwdriver. She doesn't know how he can keep up with his own head, but she's damn well enjoying watching it happen.

In her opinion, a man that works as hard as Tony also needs his rest, however _un_ restful it is, so she does her best to avoid disturbing him when she rises from the bed. Normally, Tony would stir at the movement and make some lewd comment about the threadbare tee shirt and plain panties in place of proper pajamas. But he's dead to pretty much anything right now, so she merely slips from their shared bed, leaving the covers where they are to keep the warmth in, and slaps on some cut-off sweat pants. While Tony might like her wandering around their bedroom in next to nothing, the others in the mansion might take offense. So, she makes sure she's all covered up and resembling a lady before she steps outside their room.

Of course, just because Darcy's mindful of the others' sensibilities doesn't mean their two new houseguests are. Apparently, things are much more fancy free in Asgard, or wherever the hell they came from, evidenced by the utterly unashamed PDA going on in the kitchen.

And, of course, just because some people would turn their eyes from the sight before them doesn't mean Darcy will. Girl's gotta get some entertainment _somewhere_.

* * *

It has been far too long. 

Loki is perched upon the cool marble countertop. He is not nude, merely clad from the waist down, but judging by his husband's lusts, that will not last long. Thor stands between his legs, completely naked, and Loki cannot take his eyes off his body. It's sculpted from years and years on the battlefield. There's a myriad of scars, a patchwork dedication to his unflinching loyalty to his home and King. But beneath the obvious and unimportant imperfections, it's tanned and gorgeous and plenty for Loki to sink his teeth into. 

He knows each and every one of those scars as if they were his own. He has shared in the glory, the pain, the sheer exhaustion that comes with earning such badges, and Loki does not offer his husband one ounce of pity nor sympathy. They are badges of honor on the back of a warrior, and Loki would not have him any other way. 

Instead, he honors him in his own way. 

"It has been too long, beloved," the trickster whispers against his husband's jaw. Thor doesn't speak, merely offers a hasty nod in return. His skin is hot with his arousal and Loki doesn't have to look south to know his cock's condition. Large hands, worn after handling weaponry for so many years, skim over Loki's sides and up his shoulders to cup his face. 

Thor's eyes are hazy and clouded. The pupils have grown large and almost completely overtake the blue Loki loves so much. His lips, already full, are bee stung from Loki's mouth and teeth. Breath comes in quiet pants, like he can't keep up, like he's just run a mile but can't bring himself to stop. 

"Brother..." Even now, with so much between them, such love and devotion and their marriage witnessed before the entire realm of Asgard, they are still brothers. Though they not be blood related, and that seems to strangely matter in this realm, they still share a common childhood and memories of fighting alongside one another. They are brothers. They are lovers. Loki is Thor's husband, and Thor is his. 

Loki shushes him with a brief peck on the mouth. They do not have much time like this. Even now, the house around them could be waking, and the trickster wants to finish what he started before they have any spectators. Thor is already hard and impatient between his legs, and Loki cannot think of anything else but dragging him even closer until Thor is inside him. But there's no time, not where they are. Loki didn't plan it this way, but just seeing Thor wander around, nude, conversing with JARVIS as if he were a man and not spirit...well, Loki could never turn something as tempting as that picture down. 

Thor ruts against the seam of Loki's pants, dragging the fabric along the delicate skin of Loki's balls. He gasps against Thor's skin and a bead of sweat cuts a shiny path down Thor's throat. Loki laps it up. 

It's nearly too much, the pressure against Loki's balls, dipping past towards his hole. Reminding him that Thor hasn't been inside him, hasn't filled him up in what seems like ages. But it's not enough time now. Loki knows the Captain is an early riser and shall be wandering around the house, possibly to the kitchen, any moment.

Thor gives up a protest when Loki shoves him away, but the words vaporize on his tongue as his brother and lover falls to his knees before him. The floor is hard, cool in the early morning, but quickly warms under Loki's fabric-clad knees. He braces himself against Thor's wide, strong thighs. His palms glance over the soft hairs of Thor's skin. 

Loki loves his husband. He also loves his husband's cock. It's thick, not too long, with a glistening red tip and wide head. His balls hang heavy. He is Loki's idea of perfection.

A big hand cups Loki's left cheek, lifting his head, his eyes to meet Thor's. 

They don't need to say anything. Since coming to Earth, training with their new team, and factoring in the recovery time Loki has had to suffer through to see his injuries faded, they have not made love. And while this time should be spent writing odes to his husband's body on his skin or moaning sweet sentiments in his ears, Loki knows they aren't going to fill what time they have with silly platitudes and strangled endearments. Loki usually isn't one for sweet words (though, he won't lie, he loves seeing Thor's eyes cloud with heart when they're together), so this is right up his alley.

The blowjob is quick and dirty. Loki tips his head back, lets Thor's cock fill his mouth as much as it can before it's scored upon his teeth. He grips the remainder of the shaft with his right hand, stroking in time with bobbing his head. The shaft is slick with his spit and Thor's precome and it tastes salty and bitter. Loki's mouth is so full of Thor that he can barely breathe much less move, but when he pulls back a bit, he can feel every inch of the thick, underside vein drag along his tongue. It feels... _indescribable_ every time he kneels between his brother's legs, every time his knees frame Loki's face or his hands keep his head in place as he feeds the trickster every inch he can. Loki writes his own personal love letter to Thor with his tongue and hands and half-lidded eyes. 

It doesn't take long at all for Thor to wrap his hands around Loki's head. He doesn't hold him. He doesn't force him. Thor could never force anyone to kneel before him, not even his subjects in Asgard or his enemies on the battlefield. He cannot force Loki now, even as he trembles on the edge of orgasm.

Before he feels his brother explode into his mouth, Loki pulls off. He keeps his hand stretched over Thor's cock. It's a cock he could write sonnets for. He does write sonnets, but instead of ink and paper, he uses tongue and lips. Now, though, despite Thor's insistent whine to continue, Loki merely keeps him still and looks up to watch his brother come undone with eyes shadowed by heavy lashes.

"Thor." Loki catches Thor's attention, but it's difficult to keep it when he's so fucking close.

"Loki, do not play with me..."

"Shh, beloved," Loki quiets him with a sweep of flat tongue against the head. Thor practically chokes. "I don't want you to come just yet."

"Then when?"

Loki stands, ignoring the phantom pangs in his legs left over from the battle (pangs that haven't _quite_ healed, but will in time), and huddles in tight. Thor drops his forehead to Loki's shoulder and Loki drags a heavy hand through his hair. It's soothing. It's nice. But Loki knows he's only dragging Thor out further, stringing him along. His breathing is so quick and shallow. Loki can't help but grin knowing he can still undo his husband so thoroughly. 

"I want you," Loki whispers into his ear, hot breath stirring the wispy strands of hair behind it. "I want your cock deep inside me, where no one else has ever been, and I want you to come undone within me." He strokes once, twice, three times to keep his brother standing at attention and quivering. He catches the way Thor's chest hitches in excitement. "Would you rather I suck you here, where anyone can walk in? Or would you rather you hold me down and take what has always been yours..." He sucks at the fleshy lobe and tastes soap and sweat. "I'm yours, beloved. Show me I'm yours." 

Thor has never been strong in the impulse control department. He lets out a primal _growl_ , a mate marking what's his, and digs his fingers into Loki's hips as he captures his brother's mouth. Thor's lips are dry from panting and so full that they cover Loki's completely. He doesn't kiss slowly. It's not romantic. Nothing about this screams roses and candlelit dinner. It's all about marking him up, bruising his hips with his fingers, biting at Loki's lips because watching them swell will be an absolute fucking pleasure. Thor throws his strength behind the kiss, using his teeth and tongue to halt Loki's slick words before they see daylight. And when Loki cannot breathe without breathing in Thor, when he cannot move without coming away cold and empty, Thor pulls back and commands, "Brother. Take us to our rooms." 

And he attacks the soft skin of Loki's neck, leaving streaks of red where the blood rushes to the surface after Thor drags his teeth down his throat. Loki gladly mutters the spell of transportation, eying their room in Stark Tower in his mind. With a strained moan and a wisp of air, the two fade from the kitchen and end up somewhere else.

* * *

Darcy pokes her head out from behind the doorway and fans herself because that was so fucking _HOT_. She's not even perturbed by the magic (she's never really seen anything like that), not when she caught a sinfully hot blow job and two pretty much naked sex machines going at it right in the open like that. That was...yeah, she's going back to bed. She doesn't even care if she wakes Tony up. She's getting some hot, dirty sex if she has to drape herself with coffee beans to get him conscious. 

As she makes her way to the bedroom (let's be honest, she's fucking _skipping_ there right now), she lets the scene play out in her head over and over until she's all bothered and ready for some lovin'. 

After she rouses Tony with an inspired blowie on her part and gets screwed six ways from Sunday, she lies on his chest and thinks back to the two men she caught in the kitchen. Replaying it in her mind (not for the sexy fun times it inspires, but purely because it was fun), she could have sworn she remembered Loki noticing her over Thor's shoulder. And winking like the saucy fuck he is. 

When Tony asks why she's laughing (and really, laughing right after sex never made _anyone_ feel good), she can't really explain it without laughing further.

**Author's Note:**

> I do plan to write a third part with how Darcy and Tony's relationship began. If anyone has any suggestions or ideas, let me know! Also, I do want to write some of the story from Jane's point of view and give her a little closure (maybe a new man to occupy her thoughts, because I do actually love her as a character). Again, any ideas anyone can provide will be much appreciated (and if I end up using them, credited)!


End file.
